Fire And Ice
by beautifulmornings
Summary: After the final battle, two people are trapped in a deadly fire. To save them, Hermione manages to perform one of the most deadly and complex pieces of wandless magic the wizading world has ever seen with devastating consquences. ON HIATUS.
1. The Beginning

**Disclaimer: **Characters, setting etc belong to JK Rowling.

**The Beginning.**

The two stood, dark silhouettes happily entwined within one another arms - they were an oasis in the chaos around them.

The world was on fire, or so it seemed. Flames, hot and angry licked at the trees, racing across the floor to collide in a shower of sparks, threatening to swallow the world – even the sky was not safe as the flames climbed up to meet the stars, smoke spiralling far above their heads. It was to be their funeral pyre and they knew it. There would be no escape from this mess, no escape from what was to come; the most they could wish for was to go swiftly, to die long before the flames could find them amongst the debris. Already the stench of burning flesh filled the air, filling their noses with the smell of what was to come, as the fire fed on the bodies of the fallen – both sides had suffered heavily although perhaps it had been the Dark to lose the most – the fire did not care who it consumed, all was fair in love and war after all. The girl mused that perhaps this would be the best way to go, not to die out of hatred, not to die because of who she was, or had been, but to die because that is what nature dictated should happen. Smiling gently she looked up into the eyes of her companion. Unlike her, he had fought at first, unable to see how futile this would be, but by now he too had realised that the only thing for them to do would be to let themselves be taken, to rejoice in what had been.

The girl's hair crackled around her, floating in the gentle breeze, glowing red and orange in the light of the flames looking to the casual observer as though she had brought the fire, as if she was blessing the boy who she had chosen to take with her, that she could just turn and flit through the flames as though she were one. Her eyes flashed in the gloom, the only truly bright spark in the scene, a thousand words captured in a glance. She was far smaller than her companion and as she stepped back, hands reaching up to cradle his face, it was plain for all to see that she was tiny and lithe as well. All in all, this girl looked like she was the harbinger of doom, risen from the depths of hell, bringing with her a vengeful fire to scour the earth and to take the bodies of the fallen back with her, she was dangerous and fiery, her very soul a symphony of flames.

In stark contrast, her companion, the tall boy whose face she cradled so delicately, was barely visible within the smoke - it seemed to wrap itself around him as though hiding him from the world, unwilling to let him go in case he escaped. He was all pale greys and glimmering silver and white against the flames. His hair, although soot stained and dulled by the fight, was the palest silver, only surpassed by the white marble of his face, his eyes were flinty chips, although if you looked close enough you could see the blue, such a clear sky blue, reflected in them as he looked down on the girl, unreadable and cool. He was tall, taller than most, his body graceful and elegant. As the girl cradled his face, his hands hung by his sides, limp, as though he could not touch this fiery vision that was so intent on capturing him. He was the angel in the scene, caught in the fiery pits of hell, with no escape. It would not be hard to imagine that he had wings, pure as new snow, with which to carry himself up into the blue skies and away from this terrible fate.

The two figures were fire and ice, heaven and hell. He was pure, she dirty. The irony, she had told him, was that as dirty as she was, she was the light, and as pure as he was, he was the dark. She had showed him that purity was not goodness, and that dirt did not equate to inferiority. This fire had raged for almost half an hour by then, and in that time they had seen what they should have seen so long ago. Neither had loved, and that love would have saved them. For him to truly see her and love her the way she was and for her to love him enough to forgive would have kept them from this dark place, kept them within the light of their home. But it was not to be. They did not have time to rue their decisions, for it was too late for that. This fate was inevitable. No one knew that they were here. No one could see the fire drawing closer, dancing around them, trapping them so neatly. The smoke, as it rose, dancing into the sky, was whisked away by the breeze, pulled away as though even it could not bear to be there any longer. In the time they had been trapped, their wands had disappeared. Their clothes torn and muddied. Hands and faces bloodied. Still she cradled his face, standing on her toes to bring her level with him. Time had frozen around them, and even as the flames taunted them, heating their very bones, neither could move. This would be how they went and they would do so with dignity. Her breath was light, brushing his cheek. Eyes flickered shut as he inhaled her, wishing that this would not be the last time he could be this close, wishing that he could reach out and touch the one thing that was still alive in this graveyard. Her eyes, inquisitive and unafraid, explored his face, and she moved her hands, running them over his eyelids, across the sharp cheekbones, round the strong jaw, and up and around the lips, subconsciously noting the way his breath hitched under her gentle touch. Once more she pulled back, curiosity satiated. His hands had curled into fists, the knuckles jutting sharply out, his breathing staggered. He so desperately wished to cling to the knowledge of her inferiority. He could feel it slipping as the beautifully unaware girl in front of him threatened to destroy him before the fire even licked at his feet. This girl was poison. Poison in an apple. She was so unaware of how deadly she was, so blissfully oblivious to the pain she brought with every simple touch, with every passing breath.

Hours passed. Still the figures stood like statues, the sky now darkened to a midnight hue. Stars winked at them, smiling cruelly down on the pair as the fire drew inexorably closer. The fire had long since abandoned reaching for the sky. No, now it wound its way across the floor, snaking ever closer with every branch, ever twig that succumbed to its will. The fire was closer, yet the two knew they had time. Had the time to love for one last time. Had the time to beg for forgiveness for their sins. Moonlight became a spotlight, showing them the flaws, highlighting the beauty of the other. What had once been a gentle embrace was now almost as hot as the fire. The boy made of ice would surely melt under the girl's fierce touch. Hands clasped, breathing erratic, their eyes locked, fire burning into ice, ice freezing fire. They had no one else now, and that thought comforted them. They would not have touched, not have said the words that floated between them, if they were not to spend eternity together. It no longer mattered who they were. To him, she was his last salvation, last chance to get it right. To her, he was a taste of a fruit once forbidden to her. Tonight, they would share everything. Just for these moments, would they love. It was under that denial, the joint belief that this was not real, did their mouths find each other, fervent and unrelenting. They were hungry; hungry for someone else, and true to nature, the fire melted the ice. They had done it there on the dusty floor, whilst the fire jeered at them, scrutinising them. Under the fire, to him, she had been a saving grace, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, her hair a halo – she would be his angel. He could not take his eyes from the way she moved, back arched, mouth parted in a delicate "oh". His mouth devoured her; he needed to taste her, to touch her once more, to feel her need once again. Gasping and trembling he pulled her in, his grip tightening around her diminutive frame. She glowed, so perfect and flawed all at once. The girl had needed this, needed to feel the fire one last time, to know that the hate was there, that the passion she held in her hate for him, would not be quenched by such a thing as death. To her, he was the snake in her Eden, and just like Eve, she had succumbed – not for love, but for desire. He had melted under her touch, and she wondered if this could have ever been anything more, if she could have ever hated him any less. If one day her heart would not have ached with such fury for the boy. It was then that he had whispered, exhausting rising as they fell apart that he loved her, eyes boring into her, full of the fire that once filled hers. Regret and hurt resounded within her. The clearing echoed with her silence. Both knew that she could not love him, and that he would never have her.

The fire circled them where they stood; they had barely a meter around them now. The fire teased them. It was utterly dark. The moon and stars had been swallowed by the clouds as though in mourning, and the night had stilled. Smoke billowed, swallowing them, filling their lungs. The girl had given in long ago, seemingly so at peace with what she had been dealt, whilst he continued to fight. She had her arms wrapped around him, holding him in place, eyes never leaving his. Once again, she was the demon holding the victim she intended to take, not a whisper of pain in those eyes even as the fire scorched her, occasionally flicking out as though to taste her skin. The boy was panicked, his eyes wide, breathing harsh, not ready to accept the fate this girl would bring. Her eyes were so flat. Soon he fell under her gaze. Fell to the way she held him as though she would take him gently, as though she would make it easy. Fell to the way she did not seem to notice the fire that tickled her. Fell to the way she smiled up at him brilliantly as the fire licked at their feet. Smoke filled his lungs, and he coughed hacking coughs that stopped his heart, and forced all the air from his lungs. Still she remained impassive. His head span, dizziness calling to him and he slumped into her, knowing she would catch him. She looked down at him, eyes warm and knowing. His legs slipped and he became aware of something eating at him, mesmerised by the flames that licked up his body. Her eyes were kind, her smile seeming to ease him into painlessness, into a darkness so deep he could not see the way out. As his eyes flickered, the last image he registered was of the fact that her eyes were no longer calm, her smile broken, as tears streamed down her cheeks, shining in the sudden light from the moon, and that she had hidden the pain, hidden what had hurt her so badly, so that he could die in peace. His heart broke as he fell; fell so far, before he could feel nothing, became unaware of the world that carried on spinning below him.

The girl sat, the fire like a wall surrounding her. She had beaten the fire off of him, aware that she should have let him go, let him slip into death painlessly, not prolonged it. His prone form lay across her lap, his face against her shoulder, so peaceful and pale in the dark. Even the fire seemed to bow from her, as she looked up, fury and hate burning like torches in her eyes, her mouth pulled into a snarl. Sorrow and pain brewed in her stomach and resolutely she knew what she would do, knew that she could not save them both. They would not go down without a bang, she had not come here for this, had not decided to risk herself so wholly to die for nothing. She would stand, face the element she felt such a kinship with, and see if it would dare to swallow her whole, to burn her where she stood. Her wand lost long ago, this girl was aware that it would take everything she had to do this, to preserve what she could of their bodies at least. Doing this would drain her, kill her, she had known it would but she forged on. Gently she laid the boy she hated so much on the floor by her feet, willing the fire to keep its distance for just a moment more. Slowly she stood, having brushed a lingering kiss across his head, and hoping that he would survive this to tell the world that they had not gone without a fight. Her silhouette was black against the reds and oranges of the flame, and she stood, feet slightly spread, hands pushed out as though pushing the fire away. Energy built around her, the entire forest quieting as her breathing grew louder, the sky dimmed around her and she wavered, a smile adorning her face. This demon, so unaware of what she was, would save them.

The girl glowed gently, her face bathed in a golden glow, her eyes closed as she revelled in it. She shone brighter than any star ever could, and the world was forced to bow to what she was. Her heart beat in her chest, her world pulsing along with it. Everything began to spin, and she could no longer see. The world shone so brightly, and she pushed, forcing everything outwards, elation and wonder swirling around her like cats prowling for their prey. The angel boy stirred at her feet, gasping and choking at what he saw. The fire around them crackled and flared, twisting as though dancing to the tune she had set, writhed as though entranced unable to escape as it seemed to swallow itself, the flames no longer brilliant reds and glinting yellows, but a blinding gold and silver. Even more beautiful was the girl who had done this – she was so full of colour, her eyes a solid gold as she stared unseeingly at what she had done. The air tasted of smoke and sweat, the ground scarred from the fire that had once been. Plumes of smoke hung in the sky, gazing down as though to see where the fire had gone. A loud breath broke the silence and she fell. The girl that saved the world fell, as softly and silently as an oak deep in a forest. The trees seemed to bow towards her, and the sky wept gently as she lay stiller than stone amongst the remaining grass. Her smile lit up the world even as she lay blind to everything.

The pale boy, so icy cold, melted once more next to her heat, and leaning down, kissed her perfectly still face one last time - she had drained herself, condemned herself to death. The girl so deadly had used every drop of fire in her to save the boy she hated so dearly. That was what it had seemed like. Then she spoke, spoke words to true and honest that it scared him in a voice that had never belonged to her. The girl so fragile on the floor was no longer just a girl, would never be. She had given her life, changed the fate the world had assigned them. This girl would forever be full of the fire she had swallowed, be the demon that she had seemed, entirely unaware that she carried only destruction within her soul. Whilst he, the boy who had loved her so entirely for those few moments would be the ice, the only one capable of freezing the destruction she harboured, the only one able to fix her. That would be their punishment; together they would be trapped eternally. If either were to survive, they would need the other.

Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger would have to fall in love to save the world they had known for the last eighteen years.


	2. Angel and Demon

**Disclaimer: **Characters, setting etc belong to JK Rowling.

**Angel and Demon**

The room was stark white, strip lights lining the ceiling, blinding the occupants when they chose to awake, the only splashes of colour in the room were the people - faded splashes of paint on a blank canvas. One boy was not paint on the canvas, but rather seemed to blend in to the background almost invisible to the naked eye whereas the girl who's bed he stood beside was perhaps the most vivid of all the colours – a symphony of reds and gold's – a stark contrast to the white and silver that he seemed to be made of. Neither stirred, the girl lying still under a thin blanket as the boy stood as still as death beside her, not moving a muscle as though he could not move until she did. So it followed that as the girl let out a whimper, rolling over, eyelids fluttering, that the boy would slip silently from the room as though he had never been there, only able to move when she had.

* * *

The girl let out a pained moan, refusing to open her eyes. She had woken in state of calm bliss - now she was far too hot, and when she cracked an eye to see if there was any reason for this she let out a blood curdling scream at the flames that seemed to flicker up her skin, licking at her and crackling with laughter as she tried to move away from then but to no avail. Alerted to her awakening, Madame Pomfrey raced to her side, watching paralyzed in horror as Hermione Granger wept piteously, clawing at herself as though trying to rid herself of some foul stench, for there was nothing there, nothing but skin rubbed red raw from her own frantic hands. Approaching cautiously the nurse tried to subdue the frantic girl, eventually managing to pour a Calming Drought down the girls throat. The nurse stood for another ten minutes watching as her charge slipped into an uncomfortable sleep, for she still tossed and turned, arching off her bed as though trying to escape the most terrible torture; for Hermione it was like something was alight in her very blood, racing through her body so that nothing was spared from the cruel heat, everything in its path burning under it's cruel glare.

Madame Pomfrey turned to leave, but in the corner of her eyes she caught something that scared her beyond belief, the girl's hands were glowing red, and the glow was fast spreading, as she went to touch the girl, she hissed as though burnt as a shocking heat repelled her, the sound of flames crackling ringing in her ears. Frantic, the old nurse cast cooling charm after cooling charm all to no avail. Braving the heat, the woman forged ahead, plunging her hand through the searing heat to touch the girl's skin and as she did, gasping as she felt the heat burnt her skin, the glow seemed to subside, dissipating slowly as the girl fell into a sleep so deep she doubted anything could wake her even as tiny sparks wound their way up the old woman's arm.

Leaving with one last glance at the tiny girl in Bed Nine, Madame Pomfrey wondered what could have possibly caused that, if perhaps her magic had needed soothing or something else equally uncommon. In her absentmindedness, the nurse stumbled slightly, reaching out a hand to steady herself and accidently knocking over the rest of her pain easing drought and spraining her ankle as she had twisted it. All thoughts of the girl who had been on fire fled her mind as mumbling silent curses, the nurse limped back to her office to fix her ankle and to ask Severus for more of that precious drought. Today had taken a turn for the worse for that one woman.

Half an hour the pale boy was back, once more keeping his vigil at Hermione's bedside, cursing himself for ever leaving. Draco Malfoy had not wanted to face the girl so soon in case she remembered what had happened and decided to blame him, plus he now had the uncanny feeling that the girl was tired and simply needed rest that she wished for even Harry and Ron to leave her for just a while. Ignoring how he had come across that piece of information, Draco remembered once more why he could not leave her any longer as much as he wished to. Although he had just been standing down the corridor, hidden away from prying eyes in an alcove he had felt her pain, tasted how she felt and knew that whilst he was not there she was burning inside, her soul literally trying to burst free, then more worryingly, he had felt the strange fire that consumed her dart out and taste the air and felt a new hand in the deadly fire, tentative and cool – the fire, searching for release had crawled up into this new body and had already wreaked havoc on the recipient, he was sure. Disgustingly, he could barely bring himself to care about the victim's misfortune because he could feel Granger's peace and contentment now and suddenly he was aware of how that was all that mattered.

Sighing, the icy boy, reached out as through to stroke the girl's hair, fascinated and captivated by the girl below him; he would have to research this or see Dumbledore, for they could surely not be the only ones to have befallen this curse and they needed to remedy this as soon as possible, because it was with sick certainty that the boy new that he would continue to be able to feel how Hermione felt, would be aware of the pain she caused even if she was not - he was sure it would only get worse. Once more he hesitated, hand hovering over her forehead before he regretfully withdrew it knowing he could still not touch her when she looked so delicate. One day he would have to tell her what had happened and why he could never leave her and hope that she believed him and let him live in peace beside her if only for the sake of everyone around her.

Down in her office, Madame Pomfrey's day had begun to brighten. After fixing her ankle, she had managed to make it feel better than it had in years, better than it had felt since she had fallen down those stairs three years ago, and when she went to order more of the pain easing drought she became aware of her lack of dreamless sleep potion which she would never have managed without for more than a few hours. All in all, each piece of bad luck she had had, had been rectified. Smiling to herself the woman failed to notice that her good luck had begun as a boy almost as white as snow had slipped silently through the wards around Bed Nine.

The curse had taken hold.

* * *

Ensconced within his office, deep within the labyrinthine corridors of Hogwarts, Dumbledore sat contentedly reviewing various proposals from the school board and trying to discover a means to rebuild the school whilst the students holidayed. Then the air seemed to ripple, pulsing and shimmering around him veering between hot and cold with alarming ferocity. Looking up, the old headmaster frowned lightly, mind sunk deep into thought as he tried to think what could have caused the very magic of Hogwarts to twist and warp so badly, but then, just as suddenly as it had started, it once again ceased. Shaking his head in consternation, the old professor once more immersed himself in his work, intent on finishing it before the day was done, but his mind was no longer on the papers in front of him but on the strange feeling in the atmosphere, as though something was brewing deep with the ancient walls. Leaning back and tiredly rubbing his eyes, the weary headmaster resigned himself to a long night of pondering over this latest, and most worrisome, conundrum.

* * *

It was now the second day that Hermione would spend in the Hospital Wing, and Draco had barely left her for fear of a repeat of what had happened last time. The boy was utterly terrified and very aware that he could prevent every ounce of her pain and all the damage it wreaked on everyone else, but, and it was a big but, to be around Granger was to be able to see past the girl who hid behind her books, and to know how she felt and what she was thinking at any given moment, and that scared Draco simply because to be so close to someone could not lead to anything but an inevitable bond – a bond he did not want, would never want. Face grey, and body limp, the pale boy sat slumped in the chair adjacent to Hermione's bed, right on the edge of sleep, almost falling before being caught and fading into bleakness slowly once more whilst the girl across from him had not seemed to drain of life or colour, quite the opposite, she had seemed to grow more vibrant, to glow with the new found fire in her soul. These changes, however small, had worried Draco and he knew that the physical changes would not be the only things they would have to suffer through. Suddenly the boy felt overwhelmed, as though the pressure and force of this was a wave crashing over him from which he could not surface. Thoroughly disturbed, unable to rest and feeling selfish, Draco flung himself out the Hospital Wing and down the corridor before he had time to register what he had done. Maybe if he ran far enough, this thing would get left behind.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her sleep, once more something burning deep within her chest - a dull ache that continued to expand, growing hotter and fiercer with every passing minute. Curling in on herself, Hermione seemed to almost be a fire, her body being the kindling. The air above her rippled from the heat she gave off, whilst the horror stricken girl once more felt the flames pulling at her, taunting her, except this time there was no last minute reprieve – no nurse to absorb the fire, no ice to soothe her soul, no one but her to take the pain. Hermione was soon just a ball of flame, her entire body aglow and her hair crackling with an unseen force.

Deep in the dungeons, the familiar boy felt her pain and discomfort, felt it grow with every moment he chose not to go back to her and ease her pain. Guiltily he turned away, he could not be around her all the time – it was Granger, the epitome of all he had ever hated – and he could soon block her from his mind and carry on with his life, it was barely affecting him, he reasoned. The pale boy spoke too soon. Fifteen minutes later he sat hands clawing at the arms of his chair as he struggled to breathe, every breath he took crystallising in his lungs and his blood slowing in his veins and chilling him from the inside out. Already pale, he seemed to lose any colour he had left, becoming a mere outline of the boy that had once been. He should never have left her, he should have told someone, because he could never manage this alone, they could never manage this alone. Draco Malfoy swore right then that if he survived, if he would tell Granger and fix this god awful mess.

Hermione's breathing was ragged, and images had begun to flash behind her closed eyelids like a flickering slide show, the images blurring together but each one still crystal clear in her mind, each bringing her fresh pain. She let out a soft gasp, feeling her chest constrict painfully. So consumed was she by the things she had seen, the story that her mind had told her, that she had not noticed as the flames began to flicker and die out, or the pale boy who stood behind her, eyes brimming with anguish and dislike. The tiny girl's frame began to shake, silent tears rolling in fat droplets down her cheeks, to splash onto her pillow.

Hermione had seen the night that her soul had died. Hermione had been so strong, so brave before, a warrior with no fear during the final battle, not even a splash of horror shining in her eyes even as the hex from an errant Death Eater had encircled the two in fire; but she had succumbed to pity to perform magic that would surely ruin her, cursed herself and him for all eternity in ways she did not even understand without even realising. The worst part, and the part she had firmly pushed from her mind, utterly sure that to relive it would honestly break her, was the knowledge of what she – they – had done in desperation, the frantic sex as the fire drew ever closer around them and the three words he had said to her after. It was many hours before her form once more stilled and her breathing became regular and deep and Draco Malfoy could finally relax, bubbling with anger for the curse she had bestowed upon them, and anguish at knowing that she blamed herself too.

* * *

The next day Hermione, limp but determined, was released from the Hospital Wing despite the protestations of Madame Pomfrey and the sick look in Draco's eyes at the thought of having to separate, or worse, tell someone. That's how it came to be that the two opposites – the girl of fire, and the boy of ice – where to find themselves standing both poised and ready for attack outside Professor Dumbledore's office. They had entered, his face impassive and cool, hers bursting with raw emotion, and seated themselves before spilling the whole story, troubled by the sorrowful look in the wise old man's normally twinkling blue eyes. Then the bad news had burst forth, like water from a broken dam, completely unstoppable and utterly devastating.

The curse that bound the two was an ancient one, although it had once been a blessing to be bound that way as only the most compatible and influential couples ever had the honour bestowed on them, and an unbreakable to boot. Not only would Hermione hurt everyone that came close, but Draco would also be forced to feel the pain inflicted. They could not stray further than five metres apart without the devastating effects both had witnessed. Gazing sadly at Draco, the old man had also regretfully informed him that he would suffer most as he as privy to her mind and normally that resulted in a tumultuous relationship that was often ended with a case of unrequited love as the demon, so used to hurting, instinctually melted their companion's soul. The worst had yet to come. The news fell like a bomb with all the devastation of Hiroshima. There was no escape. It was irreversible, and even death would not provide relief for they were to live until another couple bore their curse as the effigy of suffering and a warning for the worlds.

They were the demon and her angel.

* * *

The couple as they would forever forced to be, sat by the lake, a cool four metres between them. Draco had his hands fisted in his hair, head bowed and silky strands brushing his eyelids and floating in the breeze, looking every part the angel. The girl who was so dwarfed by his impressive build, sat folded neatly and primly to his left, refusing to let her tears fall or her eyes stray to her burden. In the wind her hair seemed to flicker and dance like flames, glinting red and orange in the sunlight that streamed down from above. His eyes were ice, almost transparent and faintly blue, whilst hers seemed to swirl from a brown so alive that her gaze could scorch. Both knew that they would not stay as they were for long, that the changes had probably begun. They had essentially become immortals, barely human. In a few days, weeks if they were lucky, they would change to reflect their souls, their magic evolving with them.

Draco examined Hermione surreptitiously. Already he was aware of the changes that the curse was causing. The way she moved like a flame, sinuous and deadly, and the fire that seemed to ignite so horribly as though showing him the deepest pits of hell in her eyes when she had turned to him, brimming with anger. It would not be the last thing that changed, and that scared him as he wondered what changes she could see in him. Was he a shade paler? His eyes more transparent? And although he doubted the wings he would have would have sprung forth, it did not stop him from craning his neck to see his back to check.

Side by side did they sit until the sun bled into the distance, the fire seeming to melt on the ice of the horizon, the perfect metaphor for the two who sat so transfixed beneath it.


End file.
